She stared at the last keyhole, heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and anticipation. If this was what it looked like, then her father hadn’t left her nothing. He had left her something only she could find. Claire stood slowly and looked at the bags that remained—three, maybe four at most. She wasn’t tired anymore. She wasn’t angry.
She was close. And whatever waited inside that safe wasn’t just an inheritance. It was a message. The third key didn’t come easily. The first bag she opened was filled with shredded magazines and moldy blankets. The next had a pair of broken lamps tangled in extension cords.